


Clean

by Marvels



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 4x06, F/M, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, tw: Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2048955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvels/pseuds/Marvels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling the gaps in 4x06. The blood washed off of Lydia's ears and jaw easily enough, but the overwhelming guilt she feels about Meredith's death still lingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean

An unfamiliar nurse came bursting in with a sedative following Meredith’s outburst. As the needle sank in the flesh of Meredith’s bicep, the tension in her body released almost instantaneously. Stiles watched as the new nurse took in their presence and the presence of Parrish at the door. Lydia was still staring at Meredith with hooded eyes and her mouth slightly agape. Her hands were suspended just off her lap, dappled with blood that came from covering her ears. Her breath was shallow and slow, the rest of her stiff and motionless against Stiles.

He let his hand fall from where it was skirting along her jaw, although his eyes paused again over the dark streams of blood flowing sluggishly from Lydia’s ears. He looked to Parrish who was watching Lydia with some sort of horrified fascination.

“You should probably leave now,” the nurse said incredulously, as if shocked that they had remained in the room for this long.

“Right,” Parrish said, backing out the door and holding it open for Lydia and Stiles.

“Come on, Lyds,” Stiles muttered to Lydia, wrapping one arm tightly around her shoulders and taking her forearm with his other hand, guiding her out of the room as quickly and as gently as possible. She complied numbly, but her eyes stayed trained on Meredith until they had crossed the threshold into the hallway. Once the door to Meredith’s room had been closed behind them, Parrish gave them both a look of mixed fear and disappointment.

“What do we do now?” Parrish asked in a hushed voice. “Do you have any other crazy friends who could help with the cipher?” Stiles’ nostrils flared as he withheld a sigh.

“I’m pretty sure this was the only lead we had in this place, so let’s just get out of here, we’ll discuss it outside.” Stiles said shortly, turning with Lydia to walk briskly down the hallway and out to the front, Parrish tagging along behind them anxiously.

When they emerged out front, Stiles immediately ushered Lydia towards the jeep.

“Where are you two going?” Parrish called out after them, shuffling to a stop at his squad car. Stiles paused before opening his passenger door for Lydia and nudging her to get in. She climbed up agreeably, moving stiffly and slowly.

“I’m taking her back to my house, she’ll be safe with me. Tell my dad where we are,” Stiles said, closing the door behind Lydia and walking around in front of the Jeep to the driver’s side. Parrish sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“If you guys need any help, or if you find something, call me or your dad, alright?” Parrish asked weakly. “A-and if she needs to see a doctor, take her straight to the hospital.” He scratched the back of his neck and Stiles afforded the deputy a tight smile. Parrish was maybe Derek’s age, probably younger, and this was all very new to him. The poor guy was trying his hardest.

“I’ll take care of her, Parrish. Thanks,” Stiles said through his smile. Parrish bit his lip but returned the smile tensely, nodding to indicate his understanding. He was out of his depth, at least for the time being. He was in that pool of names, so he’d have to get an explanation at some point, but not yet.

Stiles slid into the jeep and hit the ignition, pulling out ahead of Parrish and starting on the road home. He glanced over at Lydia a couple of times to see how she was holding up. Her expression was more alert than before, but she was still so inwardly focused that to the untrained eye, she would still seem completely dazed. Fortunately, Stiles was well versed in Lydia Martin's expressions at this point and knew that her faraway eyes and slightly parted lips were not an indication of mental absence. Rather, her mind was running at a speed that her speech would not be able to match. She needed to organize her thoughts before she was ready to express them. And so the entire ride back to the Stilinski house was silent. But when they pulled in the driveway, Stiles cleared his throat.

“What’re you thinking, Lyds?” He asked, killing the engine. Her eyes snapped over in his direction.

“Did I… What did I just do to her?” She asked quietly. Stiles sighed and slid out of the driver’s side door before going around to meet her at her side of the car. He slung an arm tight around her shoulders again as they approached the front door, and she didn't protest.

“I don’t know what we did,” Stiles started diplomatically.

“What I did, Stiles. I was the one who was yelling at her.” Lydia corrected him sharply.

“She’s never been really balanced, has she?” Stiles brushed off her previous comment. “She’s always been teetering on that edge of crazy.” They crossed into the Stilinski house and Stiles released Lydia’s shoulders to lock the front door behind them and flip on the light

“But what if I pushed her over that edge?” Lydia asked softly. Stiles turned back to Lydia and balked momentarily. In the light of the front hall, the dried crimson tracks of blood below Lydia’s ears were striking on her face, which seemed even paler than usual.

“Lydia, you've still got…” Stiles gestured to his own ears. Lydia looked down at her hands and noticed the smeared bloodstains on her palms.

“Oh,” she said distantly, bringing a hand up to touch the blood congealing and drying on her cheeks. She had a faraway look in her eyes. Still thinking about Meredith. Stiles chewed on the inside of his cheek, briefly weighing out a course of action, before closing the distance between them and bringing her into the kitchen and pointing at one of the barstools at the kitchen counter.

“Sit down.” For a moment her expression morphed into a lucid scowl and he was certain that she was going to snap at him. She didn't even roll her eyes as she slid onto a stool while he wetted a washcloth at the sink. Silence hung for just a moment before Lydia started fidgeting again, something that Stiles took for a good sign. A fidgety, anxious Lydia was better than a Lydia who was stunned into silence.

“She snapped, Stiles. That scream was…” Lydia looked agitated now, and gingerly brought a hand up to one of her ears, touching her ear gently as if probing for pain rather than feeling for blood.

“It was something,” Stiles agreed, sneaking a glance over at her warily. “Are you okay?” Lydia snorted.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, laughing shortly. The tight smile on her lips didn't reach her eyes. “I’m more worried about Meredith.”

“Meredith’s going to be fine too,” Stiles reassured her, wringing out the terry washcloth and then handing it to Lydia. “She was just a little overwhelmed.”

“She knows though. She knows the third key, why couldn't she just give it to us?" Lydia asked, her voice more curious than irritated. "People are going to get hurt.” She scrubbed at the skin around her ears and looked properly repulsed by the clumping, half-dried blood that came off on the damp towel. Stiles couldn't help but feel his nose wrinkle slightly too. Lydia slid off the stool and ran the washcloth under water again, wringing out the pink water until it ran clear (or as close to clear as she could manage).

“You missed some,” Stiles mumbled, his eyes stuck on the blood still staining Lydia’s jaw. He took the washcloth out of her hand and tilted her chin up and to the side with his free hand. As he began to work at the dried blood, he felt her eyes on him. Trying to keep the flush from rushing to his cheek, he broke the silence.

“She might know who the benefactor is, but she also might not. You got your key without talking to the benefactor, she might have too. You guys hear voices all the time, right?” Stiles said briskly. Her eyes continued to watch him thoughtfully as he gently turned her head to work on her other cheek.

“But she said him,” Lydia said, her voice stiff from trying to keep her face still in Stiles’ hands. “She knew it was a “him.” I usually can’t tell if the voice is male or female. Lately there have been too many voices for me to single just one.” Stiles allowed himself to meet her gaze and fear was radiating from her expression. He wished he could give her the answers she so desperately craved.

“I don’t know who or what Meredith knows,” Stiles said quietly. “I don’t know how you can sense the keys, or who is communicating with you to pass that along. But we will figure this out, Lyds, I promise. We’ll figure it out together.” She pursed her lips and nodded, tension and anxiety still lingering on her frame.

* * *

“Derek,” Stiles said blankly, his tone disbelieving. “What do you mean, Derek?”

“What do you mean, “what do I mean?”” Lydia snapped. “I wrote what I felt and heard, Stiles, it’s not like I’m the one who made the key.”

"Well do you feel this?” Stiles asked impatiently gesturing at the screen.

“What do you mean?” Lydia repeated. Stiles scrubbed over his face with a hand and shook his head.

“Derek. Do you feel him dying?”

“Not right now, no. And I would feel it if he was. He’s part of the pack,” Lydia assured him. Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and began pacing behind her. “Meredith’s on the list, Stiles,” Lydia said softly. “So’s Malia. And Liam.”

“Call my dad. Tell him to get in touch with Eichen House or Meredith or something,” Stiles said anxiously, turning to face the clear whiteboard he had brought up to his room days earlier. Lydia nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

As the call went through, Stiles could only hear the critical words of the conversation. Meredith wasn't with them anymore. She’d hung herself in apparent suicide only an hour ago.

Lydia slowly lowered the phone, her eyes shining with moisture. Stiles recognized the expression on her face as one that he had only seen once before-- when she had stepped onto a bear trap laid out by Mr. Tate. The fear, anger, and desperation blended together leaving her lost for words, unsure of what to do. The welling of moisture in her eyes, the bloodless pallor of her face, and the slightly agape jaw were potent indicators of her state. The confusion, Stiles realized, was what terrified her so god damn much.

She couldn't fight this. There was no way to undo what had been done. Meredith was dead.

Stiles swallowed hard and stared at her for a good few seconds before reaching around her and pulling her into his chest. She capitulated almost instantly, falling in against his chest, laying her head on his shoulder. Stiles was surprised that she wasn't crying. He almost would have preferred tears to this broken down, terrified stillness. He anchored her against him with one hand on the curve of her spine and the other hand cradling the back of her neck, fingers tangling in that long strawberry blonde hair as his thumb gently rubbed along her her hairline behind her ear.

“We’ll figure this out Lyds,” he promised. “It’s going to be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” Lydia’s voice was hoarse and quiet. Stiles gave her a tighter squeeze, but he had no answer. They stood there in silence without the precedence that there was anything to be said. The warmth that was blooming between them helped ease the knotted pain in Lydia's chest and she sank even deeper into him, resting her forehead on his shoulder with the bridge of her nose pressed against the muscle of his chest. She inhaled deeply, feeling the ache in her lungs loosen as she was engulfed in Stiles' familiar scent. It was funny, she'd never associated him with a scent before, but when she was pressed against the soft, worn flannel of his shirt, she couldn't imagine how she'd never noticed his scent before, why she hadn't wasted pointless hours craving it. She started to understand why she had spent years hearing her female peers pine over boys who weren't theirs to keep.

Eventually, Stiles loosened his grip around her and pulled her to at the foot of his bed, their legs and hips and shoulders touching.

“I should go home soon,” Lydia mumbled for lack of anything better to stay. When they broke from their embrace, thoughts of Meredith returned, and the other banshee’s panicked screams reverberated in her skull.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to send you back to an empty house, especially not now that the list is complete,” Stiles said quietly, bumping his shoulder into hers in a playful gesture. Anything to break her from this oddly detached expression of grief.

“I won’t be alone,” Lydia said, forcing a smile. “Prada will protect me.” Stiles laughed tiredly and ruffled a hand through his already mussed-up hair before giving her a good, hard look.

“I’m sure he’ll do a great job. But if you feel like your Pomeranian isn't sufficient as a guard dog at any point tonight, you’ll call, right?” Stiles asked, dipping his chin a little so he’d catch her eye, so he could make sure she knew he was serious.

“Sure, Stiles,” Lydia said, her tone fake and airy. Stiles knew her well enough to understand that her false stupidity was her armor, it was her way of putting walls up to protect herself. He didn't push further, just nodded to communicate that he understood.

“I’m going to run by Scott’s place, I can drop you on the way,” Stiles offered.

“Yeah, that’d be great, thank you,” Lydia said, her tight tense smile conveying as much gratitude as she could afford. Rubbing a comforting hand across her upper back Stiles stood to lead her out of the room. His eye caught on some red string pooled behind where Lydia had been sitting only a moment prior, and he stopped, remembering the night she had spent twirling that same blood-red string around her fingers, terrified and confused by the powers that overwhelmed her.

And now she had a twenty million dollar price tag on her head. Second highest payout on the list, right behind his best friend, the true Alpha. Lydia was going to need him in the coming weeks. She was going to need all of them. And Stiles planned to be there this time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Teen Wolf Fic I've published, so I'd appreciate any feedback on characterization, stylistic components, pacing-- really any feedback is helpful! I'm currently planning out a Stydia multichap, so we'll see what kind of reception I get on this before I proceed with that! Thank you for reading!


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